


Dr. Jackson Comes to Pemberley

by sg_wonderland



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gen, Regency
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-01
Updated: 2021-01-01
Packaged: 2021-03-11 07:48:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28467786
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sg_wonderland/pseuds/sg_wonderland
Summary: Dr. Daniel Jackson visits his old friend Lord Jack O'Neill in order to save Samantha from making a grave mistake
Comments: 1
Kudos: 13





	Dr. Jackson Comes to Pemberley

**Author's Note:**

> This is the Regency AU I've been threatening to write forever. I've always called it Pemberley in my mind so I just left that as the title.

“Dr. Daniel Jackson,” Thomas intoned from the doorway of the library. Lord Jack O'Neill looked up in surprise.

“Daniel,” he beckoned his oldest friend to enter. “”Or should I say 'Dr. Jackson' since this seems to be a formal call.” For as long as Jack could remember, Daniel would enter and leave via the library door.

“Lord O'Neill,” Daniel inclined his head.

“Very formal,” Jack murmured. “Will I offend your sensibilities if I offer you a brandy?”

Daniel took a sip while he paced the room. “Your sister paid me a call this morning.”

“That should come as no surprise as Samantha was no sooner set down at the door than she was changing her outfit to see her best friend. Come, Daniel, what has you so perturbed?”

“Samantha mentioned that she had made a new friend in London.”

“Their numbers are many and varied,” Jack said. “So much that I can scarce tell them apart.”

“One in particular, a Mr. Stephen Raynor. Have you heard her make mention of him?”

“I believe I have, now that you bring the name to mind. You know of him?”

“I do,” Daniel said shortly.

“I am acquainted with his father, who will hear no ill words about him.”

“A father's love is desired but it should not supplant the truth.”

“This is true. Do you know ill of this man?”

Daniel sighed and slowly lowered himself to his customary fireplace seat. “Perhaps I may tell you a story.”

Jack tossed another log onto the fire before he took the other armchair. “Pray do so, if it will remove that scowl from your face.”

“There was, in a place not distant from here, a beautiful girl named Sarah. Her hair shone like the sun and her eyes were ever merry. She lived, quietly, with her widowed father and older brother and lived they in perfect harmony. One day, a letter arrived in the post, from the sister of her dead mother, desiring to perform a mother's duty to present Sarah in London and make her known to society. Although the father at first protested, his daughter knew well her father's heart and soon she was in London, her aunt sparing no expense in dressmaker's shops and gowns and slippers galore she bought for her niece. And present her she did. Sarah was lively and it was quickly known that she was an excellent dancer and she was soon surrounded by friends of both sexes. Into her circle of friends, however, crept a snake disguised as a jolly fellow. Sarah was not the first to be taken in by his talk for he had made a certain name for himself. But her aunt did not know this talk and, I believe, the end of the tale is all too often familiar.”

“Oh, Daniel, I sorrow for this friend of yours.” Jack paused, trying to frame the next question delicately.

“Her father was summoned and a tale was contrived that her brother had been injured and her presence at home was required.” He glanced at Jack. “She was spared at least one tragedy for there was no child conceived. But she walks like a shadow through the village where once she danced like sunlight and laughed. She spends her time tending to the sick of the parish and keeps herself away from the company of all men, save her father and brother and that of the priest. You must forbid Samantha to make further friendship with this man. At once,” he said forcefully.

“Of course, I will speak with her this day. May I tell her this story, of your friend?”

“If you will not reveal her name. I only gave it to you to prove that my tale was true.”

“Daniel, I would have believed you without proof. That you should always rely on. What do you say that we should go to the stables and select the two worst tempered of my beasts so we shall ride away your sorrow?”

Daniel glanced down at his attire. “I am not dressed to ride. I walked over.”

“What care we how we look?” Jack reached his hand and took Daniel's drink and tugged him to his feet. “The only other solution I have to offer is a good deal of brandy and that will do neither of us any good purpose.”

*

Christmas came and went as it usually did at Pemberley. Daniel was persuaded to spend a fortnight as he had no relatives and it was his custom to give his two servants the time to make the holiday merry with their families. Several of O'Neill's relations were in attendance so there was conversation and acquaintances to make. The time passed in riding and brisk walks and after one generous snowfall, the merriment subsided into indoor games and puzzles and decorating. 

The weather had cleared by Christmas Day and the carriages had no trouble delivering the party to church and back again. A sumptuous luncheon soon followed and all agreed that the time had been well spent. 

*

As much as he had enjoyed his times of frolic, Daniel was glad to be home and to return to his books. Lord Petersen was soon to be presenting a bill before the Parliament and Daniel was tasked with writing his speech, a task for which he had discovered a certain talent: he now wrote all of Lord O'Neill's speeches.

He was deep into his task when his butler/valet tapped on the door. “I beg the pardon, sir, but My Lord O'Neill wishes to speak with you.”

Daniel set aside his quill. “By all means, Lansing, show him in.” He donned his coat and smoothed it in place.

Jack entered with a newspaper tucked under his arm. “Daniel, I hate to interrupt,” he waited until the door had been closed behind him. “I have news from London. Stephen Raynor is dead.”

“Shall we toast to that piece of good news?” Daniel said coolly.

“Daniel, I beg you not to be so careless. Perhaps you should read the story.” He held out the paper and fixed himself a cup of tea from the tray that seemed to reside permanently in Daniel's library. With a shrug, Daniel silently read the article. “So he was set upon by a footpad and shot during a robbery on his way to his father's estate for Christmas. I wish I might meet this thief so that I should give him a hearty handshake.”

“Daniel.” Jack's exasperation was apparent. “If you had finished the article, you would see that his father has set Bow Street Runners on the case to see if he could ascertain if his son might have been murdered.”

“Oh, it does appear he was murdered and someone has gifted the world with a tremendous favor in removing him from the face of it.”

“To see if he was murdered and not just robbed and murdered. If they follow Raynor's London antics, will they discover your friend and what transpired between them?”

“It is doubtful. For one thing, it happened nearly two years hence and her aunt was very efficient in hushing up the affair. No, I believe Sarah is in the clear.”

“Can you say the same about yourself?” Jack's gaze was steady.

“I...” Daniel froze then threw off a laugh. “I cannot believe...are you asking me if I stole away in the night and rode out, perhaps through the moonlight, and did the deed?” Jack never spoke, simply held his gaze. “Do you not remember that I do not own a horse or a stable.”

“But you can command one at my stable. At anytime, my hands would saddle you a horse and never question you.”

“Are you asking me if I stole through the woods to your estate, commanded a horse, rode to some way station, shot Raynor and then politely took your horse to your stable and myself to my bed to sleep without conscience?”

“These are questions that may be laid at your door by the Runners if they discover your animosity toward him?”

“I do not fear that they will but I will hold my tongue if it will give you ease.” He replied saucily.

“Daniel, I beseech you not to make yourself a gift for the detectives. His father seeks someone to blame and I'll not see you fill that role.”

Daniel sighed. “Your concern does you credit but I will allay your worry. I did not steal out into the night and do the world the favor of ridding it of the presence of Stephen Raynor.” Seeing Jack's expression, he continued. “And I will not repeat those words for the detectives.”

*

Jack recalled those words a fortnight later when one of his stable boys hastened to tell him that the Bow Street Runners had been seen in the village, inquiring about Dr. Jackson. He abandoned his plans for a hard ride and instead took himself over to Daniel's home, arriving just after the guests had been ushered into the library.

Daniel introduced his friend and, if the detectives objected to his presence, they gave no indication, only taking the seats they were offered.

“Dr. Jackson, as you may be aware, we have been dispatched by Mr. Thaddeus Raynor to inquire into the circumstances of his son's death.”

Daniel casually crossed one leg over the other and appeared to inspect his boots. “I understand there was no question that he was murdered by some brigand?”

The older of the two spoke up. “His father is not satisfied with the investigation. We have some questions.”

Adjusting his glasses, Daniel waved his hand. “Do continue although I have no idea how I may help.”

“You were acquainted with Stephen Raynor.”

“I knew him to speak with him, which I did not often do.”

“Because?”

“We did not travel in the same circles. I am, gentlemen, a scholar. I write and I occasionally assist members of Parliament, such as Lord O'Neill with speeches.”

Lord O'Neill offered,“Daniel is being modest. He has written nearly every speech given on the floor this year and has certainly penned every word I have spoken. How, may I ask, does Daniel relate to your investigation?”

“Dr. Jackson has knowledge of an...incident that may give cause for a motive.”

Daniel shook his head slowly, his eyes curious. “I do not know of what you speak.”

“You attended a house party at the home of Lord Featherstone last autumn, during the hunting season?”

“Featherstone was to present a paper on the hay tax. I helped him very little, as he does have a clever tongue.”

“There was a card game you attended.” He prompted.

Daniel rose impatiently. “I do not gamble, I find it a nasty habit. I do not sit down at any game of chance.”

“You were present that evening, however, were you not?”

He leaned against the mantel, only someone who knew him as well as Jack would have seen the beginnings of temper in his countenance. “I may, perhaps, have been in the room. I couldn't possibly speak about what did, or did not, take place at a table at which I was not seated.”

The detective sighed and, rising, took a paper from his coat. “Lord Featherstone warned us you would not break the vow you made him.” He reached the paper over and Daniel took it reluctantly. “He assured me you would recognize his hand.”

Daniel read it and dropped back into his seat. “You have seen this? Then you know why I am reluctant to speak. His father has suffered enough, hasn't he? Must be be further humiliated?”

“His father seeks the truth, even if it becomes painful. And My Lord Featherstone has absolved you of your vow, you may speak with us in complete honesty.”

Daniel looked over at his friend. “This does not leave this room?” Jack nodded. “Stephen Raynor was accused of cheating at cards and upon being confronted, refused to honor his debts. He left the table and the room laughing as if his vowels meant nothing. The amount of money was negligent, but for his father to be made known that his son incurred debts that he was honor bound to pay but refused to do so? What good will that possibly do?”

“To whom did he owe those vowels?”

“That, sir, I will not divulge.”

“Dr. Jackson, I have the right to clap you in irons for refusing to assist our investigation.”

“Then you had best do so because that is a line that I will not cross,” Daniel rose to pace again. “I have already revealed far more than I should have. All I will say is that you are a fool if you think that was the only time he left a debt on the table. If you inquire at the London clubs, and yes, even in some of the gaming hells, I believe you will find that he is not unknown to them.”

“Are you a member of those clubs?”

Daniel laughed. “Although I find myself, occasionally, in the company of such gentlemen, I do not claim membership in such clubs and you will not find my name lodged there nor will you find any man who may say that I have crossed the doorstep. It is, as I have said, a loathsome habit.”

“How, then, did you come to this knowledge?”

He shrugged. “One hears things and the more loathsome the tale, the faster the wings upon which it flies.” 

The detectives rose, thanked Daniel for his time and allowed themselves to be shown the door. Jack closed the library door and waited until he heard their carriage pull away. “Remind me not to challenge you on the field. You steered that ship over rocky waters and did so very coolly, very skillfully.”

“It always serves to have more than one arrow in one's quiver.” Daniel poured brandy, amazed at how steady a hand he had. 

“Did you know they would ask about that game you witnessed?”

“Bow Street detectives are impeccably trained. I knew they would have questioned Stephen's servants, who, I suspect, have not been recompensed to such a degree to persuade them to lie for their late master. And, remember, I did know that he was not a man of honor at the gaming table. If they haven't visited the London clubs, they will soon do so, and there they will discover just how many debts of honor Stephen left behind. No, I suspect the list of possible assailants could well stretch from here to the village green.”

“What would you have done had Featherstone not given him the letter?”

“Oh, the story of that night is no secret. But I allowed them to believe me reluctant to speak ill of the dead.”

“That was very well played. And may I ask you a question? Not to leave this room?” Daniel nodded. “Do you know who killed Raynor?”

“For certain? No, I do not know. Suspect? Yes, I have a name or two but that is information that I will take to the graveyard.” He shook his head at Jack's expression. “No, do not ask it of me because, even though you are my oldest and dearest friend, I will not speak it. Ever.”

“You are a good man, Daniel. And a good friend.” He set his brandy down. “Will you dine with us this evening? I believe Samantha received a sheaf of papers from London that she wishes to share with someone who might understand them.” He opened the library doors. “We will expect you, come early and you may advise me of how to persuade Samantha that we do not need to refurbish the whole of my house. If she gains her way, she may well bankrupt the entire O'Neill clan.” He bowed before departing.

Daniel sat and sipped his brandy with a hand that was not quite steady.


End file.
